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WORDEATER XLIII STAFF
To get a submission printed in this issue,
four of the people at the right had to vote
For the award winners, only John Stobart is
Michael A. Stilliazn
AWARDS THIS ISSUE
THOMAS C. COLLNER
(Past prize winners are only considered when no new contributors seen wor.thy. )
Several fine cover designs were sub-
mitted for this issue. The final
decision resulted in a tie.
$20 EACH GOES TO:
must be subr
Manuscripts or cover designs for WORDEATER 44 must be submitted
to John Stobart in roon C-1069 by /
APRIL 15, 1983 / J/J^rf /?/ / f «pp &
Manuscripts will not be returned. They inay be anonymous and
SHOULD BE TYPED. /
All copyrights are retained by the authors, and material may
not be reprinted \Jithout their permission.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Thomas C. Collner
Dave Br i en
J. Scott Helm
R. Walser Yale
Breathlessly In Love/Schlock. .«<,... 1
Yet Another Limerick 1
Psychomarama. ..».. ....... «... 1
Bang, Bang, You're Dead. . 1
Cliches From the World of Espionage/Small Talk 2
Emergency Room . . . 2
A Game of Questions . . . 3
Tea For Three 3
Mrs. Church . 4
Two and One and Two . 4
Alone Again. 4
Then and Nov/. 6
Gold Beating. 6
Make Way for Progress/Old Sins/The Pretense. 7
Guaranteed Mutual Destruction/He Made a Calamity of a
Wondrous Thing 7
You Who Have Been Cut 7
Paper Airplane. 7
A Line of Cars 7
The Weed of Memory , 8
Off Course, Of Course 8
I Got Those. «.. 8
Cold Coffee/ Intruder 9
Fertile Mental Soil/Haiku. 9
Two Phases of the Same Moon. « 9
Untitled Illustration 9A
Suicidal Satire. 10
Night Terrors 10
The Beast Within 10
Reuse , Refuse. 11
Field Furrows Glimmer. 11
Ride on the Highway 11
Spiral Endlessly 11
Here £ Speak 12
My Dream Came True .12
History of Western Civilization, Part 37, Lizards of
the Early Church 13
In the Beginning/Maybe 14
Hallucinations • 14
Turn of the Tide 14
Gentle Deepening Blue. . 16
Danny „ *. ..16
BREATHLESSLY IN LOVE
Py the green and slimy marshes
where the air was stale and thin
He gave his smog-filled heart to her
as she coughed "Yes" to him.
The tears of joy flowed from their eyes
or was it just pollution
That caused them both to pant and sigh —
they needed a solution.
"We could move up to the mountains
near the sticky River Scent
And raise our children 'naturally 1
in our own little oxygen tent.
And stay indoors and never want
as long as the tanks are full
•Midst nuclear waste, in our o T - r n little place
we'll disprove this ecology bull."
So they sneezed and wheezed endearments
and vowed their love was true
And married in the "springtime"
near ftiae sludge-environed slew.
I love you , Norman Bates ,
Even though we argue,
And the fruit-cellar's dark.
Gotta test your wings ,
Let go my apron strings ,
And try to fly
As far as the birds
With the glassy-eyed stares
Down there in the office.
Such a good boy, Norman,
Cleaning up after me,
Even though I'm cranky —
But I'm old, you see,
Don*"t get around much on my own,.
Sure, we have our little spats —
It's the way it is
With mommas and their little boys.
But we know what ' s thicker than water ,
Don't we, Norman?
Leonard Ludtl: j
BANG B/.IIG, YOU'RE DEAD
Bang. The pedestrian falls, twitches
twice, and di^c Bang. The car swerve3
out of control and hits a lamppost, £or.d
hands at the steering wheel. Bang. All
the years of waiting are finished, all the
dreams (nightmares?) have come true. Here,
alone on this cold and -Lonely roof, I take.
YET ANOTHER LIMERICK
There wnce was a man named McBeth
Who met an untimely death
The poor old soul
Broke open a mole
And wound up bleeding to death.
They aren't odes,
They aren't ditties,
Nor even pretties,
Couldn't really call them killers;
To be quite honest,
They're only fillers.
Through the night,
(My) electric friend.
I've spent my lifj.
Writing out thank you notac.
Now I've run out of ink.
(God knows I'm grctoful. )
Sling some stylistic schmaltz-
syrup- soaked snippets
Sashay seductive subtleties —
soul- sabotaging swoons
my vengeance on the society that made
me. Bang. The woman's brains splatter
onto the face of her now- screaming
child. Bang. Bye-bye, Sonny, nobody
likes a cry-baby. Bang. The years of
training, a lifetime of brainwashing ,
Txave finally paid off . When some kill,
Bang, Bang, You're Dead, continued
they feel pleasure. Others feel pain, sad-
neG3 or remorse. All I feel is recoil.
Bang. The mailman collapses, a bullet in
his heart, his warm red blood painting the
morning mail. Bang. Months of wondering,
running from the truth. Ages of pain,
piled high upon the foundation of a broken
heart. Disillusionment takes its toll.
,Bang. The weary bag lady staggers, staring
in disbelief at the flow of blood staining 1
her shabby, moth-eaten coat. Bang. At
long last, I have made the big time. Heads
will turn, people will sit up and take no-
tice. The people who made me what I am.
Shaped me, molded me with desires and de-
mands, threats and warnings. And above all,
never be a failure. Bang* -Ihe_wail_ x>f
sirens reaches my ears, enraging me,
as a red flag would a bull. Bang. I
have killed today, but I have only
killed nobodies. No politicians or
world leaders, no corporate magnates
or billionaires. No one vhi ic re-
sponsible , only little people, like me.
Bang. The sirens QfcoV louder, and the
tinny sound of a bullhorn now joins .,
in the haunting refrain. Give yourself
up. You can't win. Bang. Failure
looms over me, like a giant spectre,
hand in hand with his partner, death.
Bang. The realization of "failure
sweeps across me in a tidal wave of
pain and suiltc Failure. Slowly, tear-
fully, I reverse my rifle, placing the
muzzle in my mouth. Failure. Bang.
CLICHES FROM THE WORLD OF ESPIONAGE
I rented a trenchcoat
from the spy- supply shop
and stood on the corner
pretending to read the Times .
(Oh, the Times, they is a'changin
what -;ith a hole in the middle of page one.)
I waited all day for my prey to appear,
putting up with jeers
from snickerin fools.
I got plenty of looks,
and had many suspicions ,
but nobody filled the bill —
or everybody did,
and I couldn't follow them all.
Tomorrow, I'll hide in the shadows
like Orson Welles
wh.ile the zither music goes mad
and wait for Mr. Bond
to find me.
Nothing to do but wait,
Why'd he leave so late?
Recr ir. inat ions
Hope drowns in despair,
Life leaves us unaware.
They sit across from each other at
a horseshoe- shaped counter sipping cof-
fee. The gray morning sighs outside
large plate-glass windows wanting to
draw the darkness back up under her chi:
He wears a plaid flannel shirt. His
small frame hunches around his coffee
cup. A red and blue stocking cap sits
on his gray-haired head. He smiles,
and a dozen new wr inkles appear on his
She wears a heavy, black, cloth coat.
Her skin is pale and pulpy and soft
looking. She smiles back. The waitrec,
whisks through, refilling their cups.
"Got yer Christmas shopping done?"
"I'm waiting 'til the last day,"
says the woman.
"Shoulda seen all the people at the
Mall yesterday," says the man.
The waitress moves on.
"I used to work a t Baskin's," says
the man. "They got a dress code there.
All the salesmen gotta wear wool socks.
Course, they'll sell 'em to ya half-
"I hear wool socks are making a
comeback," says the woman.
Silence. Except for clanking dishes
murmuring voices, and the Ray Conniff
Singers on the radio: "For all we
know, we may never meet again." The
music is soft. The smell of bacon
dances with cigarette smoke. A school
bus careen past in the traffic outside,
cutting a yellow swath in the gray mor-
ning. Garish light bulbs shine in the
morning's eyes, and a gray ache^moanb
in her bones.
"S' posed to snow today," says the
"Yeah?" the man asks.
Small Talk, continued
"That's what they're forecasting."
"Had a helluva snowstorm out east last
week," he says.
"My son lives in Boston," says the
woman. Her eyes twinkle.
The man brings his coffee cup to his
lips and empties it. He searches his
pockets for change which ho flips onto
the counter — three silver coins. He
stands and stretches, reaches for his
coat, pays at the cash register, and
at the door, he is swallowed up by the
great, gray jaws of a yawning morning.
A GAME OF QUESTIONS
"I don't think;
I don't know," said the wise man.
Cover up tea spots ,
Stains on a four-ply
Teakwood bowl of opium
Incense burns the nose
Escape the sanitarium
A seed, therefore, arose
"I must be blind;
I cannot see," said the wise man.
Cover up the mold spots
-tains on a worn out
Silver spoon of cocaine
Powder melts the nose
-Reuses for some false pain
A seed, therefore, arose
In a cardboard bailer
Lost children recreate,
Buddy Holly, Watergate,
Morals , guidelines , battleships ,
Bleeding lips ,
Arms and breasts,
Death and sex,
Numbers, signs, cancelled checks,
Mourning glories ,
Last Hurray 2
Ma and Pa.
Lullabies, no regrets,
Smoking low- tar cigarettes,
Mountain climbers in Tibet,
What did we forget?
Did you die yet?
Is the bed wet? *
A seed, therefore, arose my dear
A seed, therefore, arose
A choice is what you chose my dear
A choice is b.ow -you chose.
Ricky- ticky tailor
Christ and Norman Mailer
A seed , therefore , arose my dear
For what is in a name?
A choice is what you chose my dear
Fire is still a flame
The lame are always lame
Reasons why? Still remain
Win or lose,
The questions are the game.
TEA FOR THREE
I heard the morning groan
in my teacup —
moaning among the dregs
underneath the tea*
Like a proper old maid,
I crooked a pinkie finger in the air
not disturbing the leaves.
I took the teacup to a gypsy
who pretended to portend.
We heard Maria Ouspenskaya speaking--
no matter what —
the violins played "Golden Earrings"
and drowned out the words.
The morning groaned
and cursed us both.
She was a circus lady of sorts,
Who fired her children through cannons
And shimmied, golden- robed , among impotent vipers.
A railkless mother with spires for tits,
Which it's said she rubbed against God and
Anyone el«e she cared to seduce.
Those who passed between her awesome thighs (the bastards),
Like pilgrims through a cathedral , ^. Self ield
Visit her with predictable regularity and
A kind of mosaic guilt,
Never failing to drop money on the kitchen table
For cigarettes and rent;
The smell of her A long time ago,
Forever in their nostrils. he and she became one.
She filed off her jagged edges.
******** He oversaw the job,
saying where and how to pare,
Thomas C. Collner so that, eventually,
they fit together well.
TWO AND 0N£ AND TWO
Little Sarah Annis was home in her
bedroom thinking about her day at school.
She remembered sitting in her desk at the
back of the classroom. Miss Voight, her
teacher, came up to her and asked why she
wasn't out at recess with the other child-
ren. Sarah replied that she would rather
be by herself, and that she didn't need any
"Not need any friends? Don't you get
lonely being by yourself all of the time?"
"Not really," said Surah. "I'm getting
used to being alone at home all the time.
Besides, I have secret friends at home.
They're always there."
"Secret friends? What do you mean by
Miss Voight* s and Sarah's conversa-
tion was interrupted by the sound of the
bell calling the children in from recess.
Sarah walked up to her full-length
mirror on the closet door, peered in, and
saw one of her secret friends peering back
at her. Sarah had dozens of secret friends
in her bedroom. She looked up at the
ceiling and saw more of her secret friends
looking back. Sarah had friends covering
every inch of her walls, friends in her
closet and friends on her dresser. Sarah's
favorite friend was a porcelain-backed
hand mirror her mother gave her for her
seventh birthday. Sarah went over to her
dresser, picked the mirror up lovingly in
her hands, and gazed dreamily into it.
Sarah could almost hear the face in the
mirror whispering, "I love you, Sarah.
You're my bestest friend in the whole
A smile covered Sarah's face. She
thought how lucky she was to have a father
who was an interior decorator. If it
weren't for him, Sarah wouldn't even
have these friends.
she forgot what she shaved away,
not really missing the burrs
that hampered the fit,
happy, she thought,
to be a unit:
it was what all people wanted,
One day, after heavy rains,
tried to straighten out,
he said because she wouldn't,
but will was not an issue
until he brought it up.
He and she are he and she again,
together and separate,
alone and not.
Sarah held her favqti te mirror
at arm's lentth and began to dance.
Sarah waltzed with her mirror just
like she 3aw the people on the tele-
vision doing the night before. Sarah
danced in graceful circles all the
while smiling at her mirror. Faster
and faster she danced. Sarah's
friends all danced with her. How
happy they all seemed dancing. with
each other; all of them with a beauti-
ful porcelain mirror in their hands.
Sarah began laughing gaily. As
she continued dancing her friends
laughed too. Sarah thought how good i
it was to be with her friends. Her
teacher was wrong. Sarah had friends.
Friends that would never turn on her.
Sarah laughed loud and hard. What did
her teacher know?
Sarah's laughter was cut short
when she tripped on one of the plush
throw rugs that covered the floor of
Alone Again, continued
her room. Sarah regained her balance juct
in tine to see her nirror fly across the
room and chatter on one -of the posts of her
Sarah ran across the room with tears
stinging her eyes and knelt beside the nir-
ror. Broken. Sarah couldn' t believe it.
Her favorite nirror lay in a thousand pie-
ces on the carpet. Sarah lifted herself
to her feet and brushed a few bits of
glass from her knees. Sarah blotted the
tears from her eyes with the hen of her
dress and kept her eyes fixed on the floor.
Sarah wondered how she could ever face her
other friends again after being so careless.
With her eyes still fixed on the floor, Sa-
rah shuffled out of the room and headed for
the broom closet. Sarah grabbed a broom in
one hand, a dustpan in the other, and
headed back to the bedroon
Sarah shyly opened the door and peered
in. To her surprise she found that none of
her friends were in the bedroom. Sarah
walked to the bedroom closet and flung open
the door, but there were no friends in there,
, — Sarah shot a glance at the ceiling, at the
dresser, everywhere, but all her friends
seemed to have vanished.
The only thing that was in the mirrors
were the rooms that her friends lived in.
How could they have left her? She knew
that it was her fault the nirror broke.
Couldn't her friends understand that she
was already feeling guilty? She needed
someone to talk to. Feeling rejected, Sa-
rah ran to her canopied bed and buried her-
self in her covers. Sarah soon fell into a
fitful sleep. She tossed and turned in her
bed. She dreamt that she was back at school.
This time she was at recess with the rest
of her classmates. They were taunting her;
calling her terrible names. Sarah covered
her ears and begged them to be quiet. Her
classmates just sneered and moved in closer.
Sarah felt someone hit her in the back. Sa-
rah wheeled around to confront her assailant
only to be hit in the back again. One blow
followed another and Sarah soon found her-
self being beaten mercilessly by her class-
mates. Blood was running from her nose.
Bruises were beginning to appear dark and
ugly on her arns and legs. She felt that
if she didn't protect herself fron the pelt-
ing hands of her classmates she would soon
Sarah bolted upright in bed to a roon
full of darkness. Sweat was dripping from
her forehead and ran down the side of her
flushed cheeks. Sarah stepped out of bed
to turn on a light. After Sarah took about
three steps " she felt pain shoot through
her foot like a hundred pointed teeth. Sa-
rah screamed again and groped for the light
switch. Locating it, she flipped the
switch and found herself once again in her
bright bedroon. Sarah looked at her foot
and saw blood running fron it. In anger,
Sarah yelled at the broken nirror that lay
at th-e rug by her berL "Stupid, nirror J"
"Stupied nirror 1" echoed around
"I thought she was her friend?"
said one voice.
"How soon they forget," said
"Yes. Isn't it terribly, terri-
bly true!" said the first.
"Who said that?" asked Sarah.
Sarah frantically glanced around the
roon, but saw no one.
"Was it you, nirror?" Sarah
linped up to the closet door nirror
"I said, 'was it you?'" Sarah
banged harder on the nirror when sud-
denly her friends naterialized.
"What if it was? Are you going
to kill ne, too?" asked the mirror.
"What do you nean 'kill you'?"
"Well, you sure did a thorough
job on one of our friends," said the
nirror notioning towards the shattered
"Yes. Didn't she shough?" con-
nented the dresser nirror.
"I'm sure glad that I wasn't her
best friend," injected the ceiling mir-
"Nor I," said one nirror after
"I didn't mean to kill her,"
yelled Sarah. "She just slipped out
of my hand!"
"Clumsy of you, wasn't it?" sta-
the closet door mirror. "What was it
your mother told you once? 'Treat your
friends like you would have then treat
you.' Wasn't that it?"
"But it was an accident!" defend-
"I thought of you as one of the
family, Sarah. But you murdered one of
our best friends. We can't let you get
away with that."
"Certainly not," added the wall
"1 say we kill her!" shouted the
"Yes, kill her!" screamed another
"Kill her!" screened the mirrors
in unison as the reflections started
banging against the glass.
Sarah covered her ears to reduce
the sound the nirrors were making.
Everywhere she looked, the nirrors were
shuddering as the girls inside then
struggled to get at her. Sarah ran for
the bedroon door only to have it slam
shut inches away fron her face.
The ^irl in the nirror on the door
folded her arns across her chest and
asked, "Going sonewhere?"
This was followed by a chorus of
insane; laughing as all the girls stare-1
evilly at Sarah.
Sarah covered her eyes and hoped
they would disappear. As soon as she
covered her eyes the laughing stopped.
( continued )
Alone Again, continued
Sarah stood paralyzed with fear. A few
minutes passed before Sarah slowly moved
her hands away from her eyes.
Sarah's heart stopped for a moment
when she saw the girls in the mirrors.
"Kill her with this!" said the wall
mirror as it drew taut the scarf that was
in her hand3.
"No. Kill her with this!" retorted
the .mirrors above her as they dangled
a noose from the ceiling.
"Let me kill her!" screamed the dress-
"I'll kill her!" I'll kill her!"
screamed one girl after another as they
tried to break out of their mirrored cells.
Sarah pulled open the bedroom door
and rushed down the flight of stairs. Sa-
rah ran to the kitchen and pulled out the
biggest knife she could find.
Sarah muttered to herself, "They won't
kill me! I thought they were my friends,
but they aren't. I hate them all!"
Sarah ran up the stairs and -burst into
her bedroom. "I'll shov/ you! I'll kill you
The mirrors just looked at Sarah
and began laughing once again. Sarah
tightened her grip on the knife and
lunged at the closet door mirror. They
screamed as the knife penetrated the
"Sarah, I'm home," called Mrs.
Annis, Sarah's mother. "Sarah, an-
swer me when I'm talking to you."
Mrs. Annis waited a few minutes
more before she stormed up the stairs
to Sarah's room. Mrs. Annis flung
open the door. A scream barely escaped
Mrs. Annis' lips before she slumped to
the floor in a dead faint. In the cen-
ter of the bedroom floor lay the muti-
lated body of her daughter. In the
mirrors were the dead reflections of
her daughter. Each standing in a pool
of blood; each with a knffe protruding
from their chests.
THEN AND NOW
No moment but thi3,
and it was true,
as they played their lives,
on the line of time
that was theirs.
A quiet knife
sliced their existence
I felt the wound
as the blade gleamed
in a dream
for a moment
that always was.
* * * 'A* * ** *
This is your last chance for redemption
(relieved from your burden)
Come with u*
This is the end to all your days and ways
(revealed as the emptiness you expected all alone)'
Come with us
This is a beginning and an end
(relief from your life)
Come with us
Come with us
Sail away ,
I feel this way . . .
Sometimes in the presence of women
Standing tall demurely
0:: speaking of love, and money in the same breath*
Contrsting the gathering entropy
whisping past our ankles
With the languid, perfumed air.
Gently lighted hair,
A hidden tortured st'. re.
But wait, friendship.
pure and simple
cast around the room as sweet supple rose petals
are lent us as a guide,
pointing towards a new st: rt.
A leaf leaps from a tree,
Lands gently on the ground,
People from miles around
Sing a weet and crisp and f ree.
MAKE WAY FOR PROGRESS
The super-duper tollway's coning through
Bulldoze the porches
Trample the garden
(especially Mother's favorite gardenias)
Asphalt the roses
Cone*"" te the grass
Crush the memories
then relocate the remains.
GUARANTEED MUTUAL DESTRUCTION
The concept of a limited hormonal var
give.! even the most hard-nosed clinical
**3f * & Hf " V " A * * jL * *A*
HE MADE A CALAMITY OF A WONDROUS THING
Ah, the principle of life,
is to live it.
Such profundity and pragmatism,
strikes me dead in the face.
I leave the room groping with stiff fingers.
Folding a paper airplane,
small but nimble fingers
attend each crease with care,
a child with dissolving hair
and everchanging features
hums a simple tune
about a cow and a moon,
hands move deftly, slowly,
along the soft, white- pulp remains
of a once-magnificent tree.
.Crayons and stubs of pencils, * v
and this afternoon's peanut-butter-and- jelly
forlornly wait their turns —
a dream is about to fly.
A LINE OF CARS
A I- ne of cars
Along the road
To say their last goodbye.
In assured hope
The line of cars
Will be there when they die.
YOU WHO HAVE BEEN CUT
You who have been cut
Rather ,than binding your j/ound ir _.
Seek to return pain
Tears flow like warm blood
Forgive, set free and find peace
Snap the vengeful blade
Relics of old sins —
the remains of human weakness \
A repentant spirit !j \
(nurtured in fear, trkined in
gathered up the necessary contritenecs
i ! ■ * \
But somehow . K . ■> 1 |> W \
like ancient art i \
the distortions have faded
and left a kind of grace
THE gRETENSE \
Grandpa lay dying \
that whole summer \
And each morning
And each afternoon
and play with my dolls
my jump rope
And skip along
the roses he cared for
the fence he painted
the hedges he pruned
But never, never outside his bedr^ om doer
or near the chance
of his echoing silence
THE WEED OF MEMORY
The -clinging vine
Which chokec the thoughts at hand
Bringc forth the "ardener
With a spray of toxic sand
And in some gray deceit
The vines seem to wither and retreat
Ease the burden of passing tine
A richly colored vision
Of beatitude and rhyme
And naked in the summer heat
Searching, searching, whole, complete
Fertilized by forgotten time
Like the vine, begin to climb
Peace of mind, and then
The clinging vine again.
OFF COURSE, OF COURSE
Judging from the position of the. planets,
We are, perhaps,
A thousand mile3 from reason
But cannot close the gap
Without a proper cap-set
And a brand new pair of feet.
The distance, we might say,
Between here and there ,
Is a dark (or heavy) year
And we'll all be as wrinkled
As last month's laundry
Before the first step is taken.
Not that the destination
Is so desirable —
I, at least, could be content
At the border of Disorder —
But there seem3 to be a need,
Inherent in the fellows,
To keep the measures straight,
The numbers in line. \ !
A parallelogram, after all,
Even for its alliterative name,
Must be what it has become.
I GOT THOSE
I got those I say
Lo down, mean red rhythm Gimme a pencil!
Tap tap tap typewriter blues Gimme a pen
I say those If you can't read my handwriting
Lo down, cold, cold shoul -cr That's your tough luck, publisher man
Righteous typewriter baby blues
When I'm poundin on those keys, baby I got those
That's when my heart is in my shoes Lo down, mean red rhythm
Tap tap typewriter blues
Damn thing's got When I'm poundin on those keys, baby
Forty-nine koys, baby That's when my heart is in my shoes
An they all feel the same When you're doin thirty words a minute
I say that You knoi/ you never will get done
Damn thing's got forty-nine keys baby You stuck with this
Your story never will get done
An bout the time you really mess up honey
Your white-out's nowhere to be found
An they all feel the same
If you miss one little type
It • s gonna ruin your name
Maybe for good this time sugar
I got those
Folks say, Lo down, mean red rhythm
"Keep your eyes off your fingers" Tap, tap, tap typewriter blues
"Don't you know that aint the way?" I got those
They say Lo down, cold, cold shoulder
"Git your eyes off your fingers girl" Righte us typewriter baby blues
"Don't you know that aint ur way?"
But when I try to type- "1 lov& you"
It reads S09F369J
When I'm poundin on those keys baby
That's when my heart is in my shoes
(Fade out of mock Blind Lemon Jefferson
vocal spot^and a bit of muffled hand-
The color of worn-out skin —
This February feeling
Arrivec like a "sad telegram;
Returns like the heavy cea.
A dirge I've memorized.
Let me clip it on again
Again, it alt/ays hangs.
Its lining black & cold.
But, like the breath of the drunk
in the back of the bus,
It comes with the ticket I bought.
I ride stiff and burdened,
But I ride;
Still I ride.
Lightin one cigarette after another,
Watchin the wall change colors
With my mood
From violet-blue to Mack —
I u ad plans for today,
Waged all my feelings
On an expectation,
Had the words all ready
And the coffee too.
It was gonna be so nice,
Me and you,
And just the breeze to shoot.
I should know better.
■ t ..«. .«. »r, ,»■,*,. t, i
TWO PHASES OF THE SAME MOON
THE INTERCOURSE OF A HYDE AND HYDE RELATIONSHIP
At home he'd only scratch his head
In public scratch his eyes
Behind closed walls he'd gaze and think
With others tell his lies.
In quiet sullen solitude, his lips
would calmly smile
Amongst the world he'd laugh too hard;
to try and show his style
A lightly darkened mega bega, who seeks;
a bit too proud
Who swallows all the madness, as he's
lurching through a crowd
A somnambulistic d reaming myth, off to
find a cloud.
Alone he suffers silently
Beneath the stars out loud.
FERTILE MENTAL SOIL
Fertile mental soil ,
So many seeds are planted,
Does your garden grow?
She snaps off the light,
rolls over to the wall,
closes her eyes,
Fear has tiptoed across the room
and slid Into her bed —
an invisible Lothario
mad with need.
Lost in yesterday,
How will I find tomorrow,
Unless I free me?
Reaching up to touch the sun,
Blade of grass growing.
Caverns of coral ,
Bright beauty and deep danger,
Castle of the shark.
Tiny invaders ,
Painting a downy landscape,
Snot/flakes are falling.
Innocence in flight,
Young runner's delicate grace,
Dappled fawn fleeing.
Silent brooding clan,
Breathless army of giants,
Pills stashed I
I have nothing to live for
Happiness has closed its door
in my face.
Pull the trigger, as I figure
No one will notice my leaving
There will be no grieving
for ny place — in anyone's life,
Sharpen the knife!
... On second thought, I
don't believe I'm that unhappy.
n a a ** #v 4\ *v /*
Jenny Jones . ■,.
THE BEAST WITHIN
I don' t know what I want — what this
crazy lust is. All I know is that it's do-
ing nasty things in ny brain, sinking steel
claws into soft gray tissue, shredding,
pulverizing ... turning the colors all
askew naking ne see them ;- 7 hcre they don't
belong ... far down the corridor I can
hear the thing coming — sinuous, lean, black
body; narrow crafty eyes; steel razor-sharp
talons with malign intent: slinking silently
through dark, narrow, gray passages ...
triggered into a sudden frenzy, it attacks,
leaps cat-like, tears into the gray matter
of a wall , ripping a great rent through
~ T hich brilliant, poisonous colors ooze.
Screaming in ecstasy, the creature careens
down blank, smooth, gray halls; possessed
in a drunken, maniacal, depraved rage . . .
wantonly skidding into the sides of the
corridors — tearing frech scars into the
gently yielding brain tissue, allowing more
colored thoughts to escape into the for-
bidden adjacent hall3. . . finally — it
For now ...
Deep inside the thing lurks ... a
surrealistic semblance of a twisted leer
affiled on its horrible countenance ...
its cunning, slitted eyes mirror my fear of
itself — separating and refracting the rays
as a prism in the sunlight. Hiding just
around a dark corner, it feeds upon ny
doubt: mocking, taunting — secure in the
belief that it will win yet another battle.
I shrink even now in revulsion in contempla-
tion of what it forces ne to do. How I have
learned to dread the feel of its cold, sen-
sual touch brushing against me, driving my
every nerve to urgency. I can never catch
it! Always a thought away, - a- shadow In the
"Stay and keep the dark away. 1
She so scared,
monsters hidin in corners,
waitin for night,
waitin for the light to fade.
She so afraid
and start to cry. ,
Her skin shiver,
she quiver like a mouse
in a snake's eye.
She don' t know why
she afraid of monsters
nade of air,
and she don't care.
She just whimper
darkness, peering at ne around corners,
biding its time to strike hardest when
I am least ready. Will I never be free
of its incescant pounding, pounding, on
the walls, rocking the very foundations
of my sanity, striving in a ceaseless
endeavor to possess me.?
I am barely hanging on to ny firm
grip on real things where I am sure of
myself and am not afraid. There nust
be a way to stop it. I cannot succumb —
it would mean my ruin. It is destroying
me. Mi3t I always run? What if I caught
it: turned around and chased it? What
would happen — what would it do? I an
afraid to fall asleep — it lurk.-; there
in wait for ne — in my blackest nightraarec
in every dream tainted with fear, need,
driving me on, on, on, running, waking
with a start in cold sweat, tangled
sheets, only to find that the nightmare
fades, but the thing remains. It cones,
eyes gleaning like a drawn sword, grin-
ning, coaxing, whispering, glittering
malice, eager for the game. Sone nasty
sounds , and the silence of claws scoring
brain fle3h. (A rat in the attic, per-
haps) There is no escape. For it is
not beside me, but in me. In the very
center of ny being — the nind — it was, anc
is. A hellish, awecone, entity, nocking
ny futile attempts to cage it, it causes
constant doubt and <*nfu3ion. The fever
is back, and my head aches with pressure.
Help me, is it ne?
J. Scott Helm
I see an opening.
I move for it,
I'm not trying to take
advantage of a situation.
Only to give as well as receive.
But why the mixed messages?
Am I reading the message right?
Or could it be just over reaction.
Am I reaching for too much?
Do I want too much?
An I trying to reflect what I'm receiving
or sending what I want to receive?
Receive , deceive
An unfettered, f reef lowing line of words,
Another, shorter, less mellifluous —
Penning the mind ineptly,
Confining the soul to squiggles.
Who fools which fool
Into believing there is truth
In the barrel of a Jotter
Made by Parker with a T-Ball tip?
What writing instruments we are!
That a piece of coal or a quill
Could coraraunicate a thought
With all its peculiar particulars,
All its colorations and shadings ,
And yet, somehow, we understand —
R* Walser Yale
RIDE ON THE HIGHWAY
FIELD FURROWS GLIMMER
Field furrows glimmer
Ice clinging to the earth's face
Reflections of sun
Ride on the highway
Into a mountain of clouds
Wondering how far.
STREET SCENES 2A.M.
Abstract geometry of crystal snow
Fuses with satin black top
Shining glare of nocturnal lights
Red, Am^er, Green.
A car rambles "n by
Going nowhere, seeking shelter
Police cruiser with spotlight,
White flame stares into dark desolation.
Sitting, silent, sullen
Only to hear the swoosh of tires on tired
Water tower like a giant pin
Pierces the earth's delicate skin
While wind-blown flags frantically wave
As if to attract attention
No one looks,
It's a tranquil, which will rise into hysteria
This other side of morning in a middle class
Laughing liquid melody,
Crumbling, crunching, crackling — free!
Through the air falling on me
Scarlet, orange, green, and brown
Millions more are floating down
Pile them up in nice soft beds
Where the night winds rest choir heads
AN ODD PEACE
Young, swift blades of grass
push up through the moist, fresh dung;
our hearts pulse calmly
HERE I SPEAK
Here I speak as one lover to another Know all itc elements by taste alone
Of the city that understands me And contain all its memories
I am no child of warm neon Th ^ s town is bawdy and bloody
Polished steel, glass and strings of electricBared thigh and lipstick smear
That dapple small trees along the lake3hore
Majestic and beautiful the downtown claims
With its great, glitterig towers and well-
But Carson's and Field's leave me cold
If this is the heart of the city, where
lies its soul?
With my back to the dash and the .glamour
I blow north past the S-curve
Pact the University
And turn my boots west to slanted streets
Following the sweet, smoky trail of
And open air sax
Through back street tree-green and brown-
Ova?- ■ concrete slab crumbling, sidewalk ;
half- sunk /half heaved
Up from the hard earth 1 s mindless, but
I pause to enjoy the lush shadows resting
cool and silent upon my face
Then break through the quiet leafy curtain
To find I have dropped into the city's gut
Tripped and sprawled headlong into the
churning, burning center of it all
The shouts hurled across cracked grey
streets and parking meters
Flung back in violent echoes off smoke-
stained brick and rusted autos
Jammed end to end, lining countless blocks
of crumbling, ash-blackened curbing
While a thousand and more battered vehicles
howl lustily as they roar past
Bodies glinting dangerously in the electric
Footfalls clatter noisily down an alleyway
to the left
But upon peeking 'round the corner
One finds the shadows are empty and silent,
trash cand and cobblestones staring
mutely back, telling .nothing
The city is a thick, blunt block of dark-
Blues oozing from every crack, every pore
Bepeath every locked door
Darkness hatchet-hacked by street lamp,
neon and headlight glare
Into a new animal , one that has see: time
These foreign elements have scored jagged
scars into its once-smooth surface
Dug niches for themselves so permanent and
That they now breathe as the darkness
Pi'ise as the darkness pulses
Or on foot dodging the nererending vehi-
cle flow below
This town is a heartbeat hard and fast
Life pressing close for warmth
Like the bodies of secret lovers
Exchanging rough caresses in the shadows .
of an abandoned doorway
This town is innocence with evil
Upon its lips, thinking it fine
Condemned to remain
The eternal youth, holding no love save
for the moment
This town does not and never will toddle,
stroll gracefully, speak gracious!/
That is all glossy paint and polish
A brocaded robe disguising the beast
Or icing on the atom bomb
This town has dirt beneath its finger-
For this town leaps and scrambles
This town shout3 and whispers , with a
voice rough and cracked a3 its
This town lives
My rat-a-tat cat
hissed and spat
and cuddly stuff
cunning cat ...
When you expect it least
he becomes a tiny jungle beast!
W DREAM COf^E TRUE
Let me introduce a Classic Chevy
fanatic — me. I especially like cars
made from 1955 through 1957. Owning a
Classic Chevy has been a dream of mine
for at least five years. That dream
came true in July, 1982, when I purchased
a run- '•own 1956 Chevy two- ten, four-door
sedan with the intent to restore it to
showroom conditi.cn. The problem I
My Dream Cone True, continued
encountered is that after I restored it to
factory fresh condition, I didn't want to
drive it too ranch. Who would want to drive
a restoration in the 3now and rain and let
it rust away, or go shopping and get it all
nicked up? You don't want to go too far
from hone in an original 1956 Chevy. After
all, where 'can you get a water pump fifty
miles from home, on a Sunday, for a twenty-
seven year-old car?
My Classic '56 Chevy now sits in my
garage parked in all its glory, but let me
tell you about its beginning.
When I purchased my Chevy, it have
numerous interior and exterior "cuts and
bruises," but no major wounds. The ensu-
ing restoration took a lot of sanding,
pounding, stitching, painting, skinned
knuckles and broken fingernails, not to
mention the patience of a saint and a few
swear words, but it was all a labor of
The end result is a far cry from the
beginning project. You should have seen
that car when I found it I Only a true
Chevy lover could see its potential stand-
ing there amid the weeds abused and neglect-
ed. The big question was whether or not the
car would run long enough to get it home.
My sister, embarrassed to be seen in what
she termed a "junker," walked home. Lucky
for her and the "junk," home was only a
couple of miles away.
After the ordeal of getting the
"junk" home, the fun part began. First
I tackled the inside; everything on the
inside came outside. Then I wire-brushed
the inside metal to remove rust, patched
the flooring where needed, and coated
the floor with rust preventative. After
all of this, came the rebuilding. I put
insulation and carpeting on the floor of
the car. Next came reupholstering the
front and back seats. After the reuphol-
stering was completed, my dad and I fab-
ricated and installed four new door pa-
nels and a rear package shelf. Also,
my Chevy now has a radio for the first
time in its life. Connecting all of
those wires was quite a trick.
Now that my Chevy had a like-new
interior, my attention turned to the
exterior. First the entire car was
sanded down to bare metal , dents pounded
out, and scratches filled in. Then the
car was primed and painted. With four
new wheels and wide, white-walled tires,
an oil change, lube job, tune-up, and
a new exhaust system, the entire project
was completed. The "ugly duckling" is
now a "beautiful swan" *
I am now the proud owner of an
emerald green and white, fully-restored
1956 Chevrolet. Do you care to go for
a ride sometime? I am always happy to
show off my pride and joy, which is also
my dream come true.
HISTORY OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION
PART 37, LIZARDS IN THE EARLY CHURCH
B-"iCi ht : bright, bright
Fright, fright, fright
Light, light, light
Mingle in distraction.
A cool breeze and a wave of silence
Blows thru my hair
I walk thru silly streets in a dream
And dream of you.
The artist lights another cfc arette
And ponders his fate
A sweet -i low release
Leaves . : e in light
Bright, bright, bright
The sheets with the smell of backyard air,
White as toothpaste,
Cradled us that night like picnic
Me with my basket of love;
You \#r th your appetite.
I never saw the distant cloud approach.
I was too unprepared for thunder.
Too soon I was left with morning's
And the feel of set- in stains.
IN THE BEGINNING
Where have all
the answers gone?
I used to
have then all.
black or white,
clay or night.
Then one day
I went astray.
You touched me
and everythi^C became
variegated shades of gray.
this rusty needle
'*nd elastic band
To a land
In your mind
Irs. to one.
Of monsters ,
A minister dance
In a distant
Is as transparent
As your eyes
TURN OF THE TIDE
It lingers on the sheets
& in the clothes I gather —
The smell of you—
Your neck, your hands,
The perfume of your loins.
Farewell, night's magic,
In final token.
The laundrymat is where I'm at,
Where sweet enchantment's broken.
Gently, I transcribe my heart's
Depth, width, length and breath
to a form palatable to mortal ears.
You sway in your breezes
And go where your muse leads ...
I would be that breeze, blowing
I would court your muse, going
My bankruptcy seeks life in your words,
The gentle breath of your spirit
caress ray neck.
Please write, and let me
feel your power,
feel your remoteness shrivel down to a warm
touch, when you write.
My room is square, grey, cluttered with
Records, plants, posters ...
And lying softly on the edge of the bed
Time slips (laughingly free and easy)
Through our waiting hands
And lands (dree "fully free and queasy)
at our feet.
We've walked away from it.
Last Tuesday I watched you dress,
You combed your hair and laughed it off.
"I know what boys like,
I know what guys want"
That's what you said
And I left for class, late again
With all of the indicators in the red, again
I heard what you said,
But now off to bed ...
Now I lay me down to sleep
My hope for a different tomorrow
In sickly contrast
With all our yesterdays.
irsT"& "sfc 'At '}ck *A"
Caught in a part of the world and a society
Whose propaganda for two centuries disputed
The truth that I am living proof of,
While I and my predecessors stand by watch-
Situations spiral out of control
And bide our tirae,
Producing heirs who will one day
Reclaim our birthright after the
Great Experiment of popular government
'■•■ proves itself again
To be a failure.
As it did in the past. As it will do in
There is no doubt that I will be a success.
There is no doubt in my mind at all
When I look at ray competition,
Whose weaknesses and lack of discipline
Will eventually eliminate them from the
I will succeed, even against great odds,
Odds created by restrictive rules.
Rules created by those who seek to topple
Those few of my ilk.
I will seek ray fortune on the other side
Of the world, in the land of the great
This is ray way, bred into Me from
Thousands of years past.
The way of the Aryan.
I have always detached myself.
Only very occasionally, when I
Was younger and naive to the natural
Cruelty of human nature, did I
Expose my heart to certain
Ones who failed to
Realize what they were witnessing.
Through time, I raised my standards
Closed myself in, appeared to be aloof and
Arrogant to those who did not understand.
Then an act of fate caused the meeting of
Her to take place. Uniwttingly, she broke
The barrier. She passed all expectations
Close examinations of character.
Her intelligence, grace, charm, beauty,
Thereof has never been equalled.
I believe I have finally met my alt^r ego,
Soul mate. The almost
Telepathic thought exchanges,
The conversations without uttering a word.
It is chilling. It is warming. It is
After protecting the heart in its
Cynical armor, expecting the
Worst, hoping the best, I sent out feelers
To see what the response was. The
Surprised me. She was never appreciated,
Turmoil, constantly hurt by those .
ignorant of her ,
Betrayed by those she trusted. She sub-
Reached out. I received. An informal
bond was established.
But she had learned to mistrust her heart
And ignore her instincts and We stand
If I press the situation, she will flee,
If I retain the status-quo I am forced
To stand from afar and be torn apart,
Disrupting my concentration on My future.
I must bide my tirae.
The standoff will eventually end.
She states that she wants to keep in
After we go our separate ways in the
spring, even though
She belongs to another who she really
I know she doesn't understand the signi-
ficance of what
I offer her: a chance to grow as a
person, a mind; a
who respects her and her thoughts and
ideas, one who asks
And lives for her respect; a provider who
Will keep her from want; a lover who will
Be gentle and considerate; and a Father
of her children who will strive to set
an example that she would approve of.
A person to make her laugh when times
are good, and to comfort her v/hen they
Are not. Above all else, show a loyalty
That is barely seen in this century, this
Age. Chivalry is not dead. This is
My way, bred into me from thousands of
The way of the Aryan.
I must have committed some insurmountable wrong in
My past, and this frustration is my punishment.
I am trained for and accustomed to frustration, but I
Believe I won' t bear thi3 one well. In the end, I could
Very well flee to the other side of the world.
GENTLE DEEPENING BLUE
Gentle deepening blue
Ethereal rapture- capturing sky color
That is in your eyes
They " abb and flow with information valuable
Wi.Qc!owa through which I view your many
Laugh, a reflection of affection
Or a backwards roll of condescension
Accompanied by a half -frown
Familiar these feel, comfortable, to me
Blue becomes flatly opaque
I catch your eyes turned inward, and far
Your expressive face smooth, blank, empty
Silent I remain, hoping not to spoil what-
ever dream you wander
A little jealous, wondering if the land-
scape is beautiful
Wishing I coul - share it with you
Or perhaps it is not a dream
But a troublesome thought
Gnawing insistently at the back of your
Willinc would I be to offer help, were this
But because you remain tight-lipped, so do
refusing to invade the privacy you so great-
I am presumptuous enough to wonder
But not presumptuous enough to inquire
"What's going on in there?"
We fell apart like limbs from a r<°-C doll ,
Stitch by weakened ctitch,
Soft and slow and sad
That year I turned sixteen.
Body aching with desire.
One so near,
Now we know fate was a liar.
Shadows etched in sin' s fire.
Soothing , seething
Sent a tear,
Raised us up a level higher.
Reaffirming knowledge prior.
Gave us wisdom to admire.
Let me see you without all those clothes.
You've clutched them tightly to your
covering up with defenses nature loathes.
I long for. t.he closeness of you undressed.
Rel£?x } let me help you to become exposed.
Open up, I'll pull you gently to my
The garments you cling to needlessly
keep us from exploring unseen territory,
hinted at, yet kept from view, hidden
We can go no farther in our relationship
unless you get the courage to completely
yourself of the wall surrounding your
It's not your body I yearn for, but you
as a whole.
A Fifth Avenue love
Stashed in a memory closet,
Unfurled now and then,
Restores the sight of my wild eye
& I see how good it was
When we loved the stuffing out of each other.
TIME TO MEDITATE
Q • O
aaa na wwMaitw i g' J Ww
Vl^ 8 *